THEME: "Hammer Time": a visual representation of the game WHAC-A-MOLE (113A: Game represented visually in this puzzle) — five [HOLE] squares, one of which is occupied by a [MOLE]—if you hit the mole (with the hammer you undoubtedly keep at your desk), you will achieve a SMASHING SUCCESS (26A: Massive victory ... or a high score in 113-Across?) (oh, and there are gray squares in the shape of, and trying desperately to spell out, MALLET):
Theme answers:
OZONE (HOLE) / (HOLE) CARD (56A: Climate issue addressed in the Montreal Protocol / 57D: It's facedown on a poker table)
GO W(HOLE) HOG / PIN(HOLE) (58A: Approach something with gusto / 43D: Primitive camera feature)
(MOLE)CULES / (MOLE)SKIN (60A: What's the matter? / 60D: Cotton fabric used in bandages)
BLACK (HOLE) / FOX(HOLE) (92A: Point of no return? / 76D: Military hiding spot)
(HOLE)-IN-ONE / RAT(HOLE) (95A: Ace / 77D: Place that's cramped and squalid)
Word of the Day: PLOSIVE (13A: Like "t," "k" and "p," in phonetics) —
In phonetics, a plosive, also known as an occlusive or simply a stop, is a pulmonic consonant in which the vocal tract is blocked so that all airflowceases. [...] The terms stop, occlusive, and plosive are often used interchangeably. Linguists who distinguish them may not agree on the distinction being made. The terms refer to different features of the consonant. "Stop" refers to the airflow that is stopped. "Occlusive" refers to the articulation, which occludes (blocks) the vocal tract. "Plosive" refers to the release burst (plosion) of the consonant. (wikipedia)
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I don't know anything about WHAC-A-MOLE except that you whac(k) moles that pop up out of holes. I think I have that right? It always looked like the stupidest game in the arcade, so I never played. Does it have five holes? I assume it does, since this puzzle is allegedly a "visual representation" of the game, and why would the puzzle lie to me? But five seems like ... not a lot of holes. How hard can it be to whac(k) that mole if you've only got five holes to cover. Is it a drinking game? I can see it being hard if you get increasingly drunk somehow. I don't know what to think of this theme. It's not a corny pun theme or a contrived story theme or a change-a-letter low-watt wackiness theme, so it's got that going for it. Seems like the puzzle is pretty light on theme material (just the five rebus squares, plus the straightforward revealer and the "bonus" punny answer up top). But I do like that there was one MOLE square among all the HOLE squares. That really came as a surprise, and confused me for a bit (I double and triple-checked that MOLE square, for sure). Then I got the revealer, and all was clear. I probably should've seen the revealer coming after I got that MOLE square, but I did not. The revealer did, in fact, do its job and reveal the theme to me. It also revealed to me how one is supposed to spell the game, which I did not do properly at first. I had WACK-A-MOLE, I think, but then DUCAT came through with an extremely unlikely assist (when has DUCAT ever done anything for anyone except be a dated form of currency?). DUCAT forced the "C," which forced a recalculation of the revealer spelling. WHACAMOLE looks ... bad, like a guacamole substitute you make out of rodent roadkill. By the time the revealer was in place, I was basically done—although I didn't even try to guess what the software was going to accept as "correct" answers for those rebus squares, so I just left them blank and hit "Reveal > Entire Puzzle," letting the puzzle tell me what was supposed to go there (the (w)hole word, apparently).
I laughed out loud at ATTABOY (6D: "Nice work, little fella!"), because the puzzle is just trolling me now. What is that, the sixteenth ATTA iteration this month? Boy-girl-way-flour-princess. All the ATTAs have been released and have yet to be corralled and led gently back to the ATTA preserve whence they came. The grid seemed mostly clean and tolerable, except for HEROIZE, what the hell is that? (29D: Put on a pedestal, say). LIONIZE, IDOLIZE, these are ... words. HEROIZE just hurts. Lyin' Eyes, yes, Hungry Eyes, yes, HEROIZE, no. Is that when you put an undercoat on your hero so he doesn't rust? Or polish your hero with wax? It's like the "N" in HEROINE just fell over and didn't get back up again. At least HEROIZE was inferrable, unlike SIDESLIP, which sounds like a scifi concept rather than the aviation term that it apparently is (104A: Aviator's maneuver in a crosswind landing). Other than those two answers, nothing seemed particularly strange or irksome. Gotta say that in terms of theme originality and grid cleanness, this one is probably above average for a Sunday. Not thrilling, but not bad.
Notes:
28D: Insertion mark (CARET) — OK I need some kind of (SILENT M!) mnemonic for CARET v. CARAT (which reminds me, I also need a (SILENT M!) mnemonic for CARAT v. KARAT)
93D: Capital in the Himalayas (LHASA) — I always (always!) want to spell this LLASA. I blame LLAMA and LLANO, which is to say I blame crosswords in general.
119A: Fifth-century pope dubbed "the Great" (ST. LEO) — ugh, this guy. Patron saint of crosswordese. He comes in LEOI form as well. He is best known for ... looking wasted, apparently:
76A: Fracas (FUROR) — this was one of the tougher answers. The clue/answer equivalency just didn't seem quite right to me. "Fracas" suggests a fight, whereas "FUROR" suggests a general uproar.
37A: Lowercase letter that resembles an "n" (ETA) — Crosswords have taught me that ETA looks like "H" but apparently they haven't taught me the lowercase version ... until now:
105D: Cotton fabric often used in hosiery (LISLE) — as a Medieval Studies student in grad school, I learned about the 12c. theologian Alain de Lille. That is how I know the town of Lille, from which the fabric LISLE gets its name. If you asked me for any specifics about the town, the fabric, or the philosopher, I would mumble something and politely excuse myself from the room, never to return.
I learned yesterday that this year's Merl Reagle MEmoRiaL Award (for lifetime achievement in crossword construction) will go to Andrea Carla Michaels! The award will be presented at the American Crossword Puzzle Tournament this coming April. Congratulations to Andrea, a worthy winner.
See you next time.
Signed, Rex Parker, King of CrossWorld
P.S. I'm told that if you solve in the app, there are post-solve graphics of some sort. This has nothing to do with crosswords, so I don't really care.
THEME: COUNT / SHEEP (60A: With 61-Across, advice for an insomniac ... or what you can do 12 times in this puzzle, reading across and down (not including this answer) — RAM, EWE, and LAMB can be round a total of 12 times if you treat the finished puzzle like the most remedial word search puzzle you've ever seen
Word of the Day: LAMBO (37A: Expensive Italian car, informally) —
Don't turn my grid into a kids' placemat puzzle and call it a crossword. Please. All this theme does—and I mean All it does—is compromise the overall quality of the fill like crazy and make the whole solving experience dull and somewhat tedious. Exhibit A: RENEWER (22D: One extending a library book loan). At no time, under no circumstances, on no planet is that an answer that anyone wants to see in their grid. It's an awkwardly ER'd word that is here *solely* to give us one of our twelve (Why Twelve?) SHEEP. Exhibit B is ECRUS, the most abominable thing in the grid; while not technically a themer itself, it's sandwiched right in between two theme answers (HEREWEARE, SHEEP) and crossing another (MAEWEST). No way you're seeing plural (!) of already tired crosswordese if desperate times didn't call for the desperate measures that ECRUS represents. As you're solving, you're not thinking, "ooh, look at the sheep!" (That's something you say while driving around New Zealand.) Instead, you're wondering why the fill is so dry and odd. Only later do you realize, "oh, it's because three RAMs were all squeezed together in the western part of the grid ... for some reason. And to make solvers finish a puzzle and then go Back and hunt for 12 sheep... why?? Where is the fun there? No way I would've done it at all if I hadn't felt obligated to post a fully sheep-searched grid. I'd just take the puzzle's word for it and get on with my day. Instead, I had to sit there like an idiot and not just do a word search, but do a word search For The Same Three Words. Even a child would be insulted by such a chore. Oh, and good luck to you if you decide to tell a real insomniac to COUNT / SHEEP. If all they do is tell you to f*** off, consider yourself lucky.
People in MENSA aren't "smart," stop propagating that dumb idea (41A: Smart society). [Club for self-styled geniuses], that works. This, from the wikipedia page, is instructive:
Roland Berrill, an Australian barrister, and Dr. Lancelot Ware, a British scientist and lawyer, founded Mensa at Lincoln College, in Oxford, England in 1946, with the intention of forming a society for the most intelligent, with the only qualification being a high IQ.
The society was ostensibly to be non-political in its aims, and free from all other social distinctions, such as race and religion. However, Berrill and Ware were both disappointed with the resulting society. Berrill had intended Mensa as "an aristocracy of the intellect" and was unhappy that the majority of members came from working or lower-class homes, while Ware said: "I do get disappointed that so many members spend so much time solving puzzles."
I think we've had about enough Mario-related answers for this month (TOAD, again, meant nothing to me) (64A: Ally in Super Mario games). Only struggles for me today came when I wanted BONE-TIRED instead of BONE-WEARY (I've only heard and would only use the former) (19A: Completely exhausted), and then, crossing BONE-WEARY, there was ON A WHIM, which I thought was ON A DARE or maybe ON A LARK (4D: Impulsively). Later, there was ECRUS, which my brain wouldn't let me accept as real. Oh, and I went with ANACIN before MOTRIN (25A: Tylenol alternative). But that was it for challenge. Hoping for better things tomorrow.
A long time ago, I was solving this puzzle and got stuck at an unguessable (to me) crossing: N. C. WYETH crossing NATICK at the "N"—I knew WYETH but forgot his initials, and NATICK ... is a suburb of Boston that I had no hope of knowing. It was clued as someplace the Boston Marathon runs through (???). Anyway, NATICK— the more obscure name in that crossing—became shorthand for an unguessable cross, esp. where the cross involves two proper nouns, neither of which is exceedingly well known. NATICK took hold as crossword slang, and the term can now be both noun ("I had a NATICK in the SW corner...") or verb ("I got NATICKED by 50A / 34D!")